


The Deepest Water

by Haicrescendo



Series: Carry On For You [4]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender, Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, hand waving canon because fuck it, it’s rematch time naughty children, not so much to all people, or in fact any people at all, someone please tell zuko that dissociation is not a healthy coping mechanism, strongly implied child abuse, vulca’s locals love and support their local cryptid, zuko is a friend to all pokemon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 12:40:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22496248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haicrescendo/pseuds/Haicrescendo
Summary: [“You’re great,” Sokka says to Iroh, “But I’m going to murder your nephew. He’s dead to me.”Despite Sokka’s forewarning that he would be coming and Zuko’s eventual confirmation via text that he would be there, Vulca’s gym leader is very decidedly not where he is supposed to be.“You’re welcome to try,” Iroh replies, trying way too hard to sound serious and radiating amusement instead. “If you’d like, you’re welcome to battle me in Zuko’s stead.” He has that authority, Sokka knows, because Zuko’s told him so even though Vulca’s gym regent isn’t well advertised. Nevertheless, he shakes his head.“No. It doesn’t count as a rematch if it’s you. Besides, I need to go find him and pound some manners into his damn head.”“Again, you are very welcome to try.”]Or,Sokka gets blown off, helps rescue a pokémon, and maybe rescues Zuko a little bit too.
Relationships: Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka & Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Carry On For You [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1599013
Comments: 139
Kudos: 2550





	The Deepest Water

**Author's Note:**

> Here we are again! Happy Friday, everybody! As always, if you enjoyed this, I’d love to hear from you, and please subscribe to the series for updates. If you want to watch me scream about fictional characters on the internet, you can find me on tumblr @sword-and-stars.

* * *

  
Sokka has decided that he’s ready to try again.

It’s been a couple of weeks and, after analyzing his first battle with Zuko, he’s tweaked his strategy a little and he thinks it’s good and solid. He runs it by Toph the next time he sees her. It’s not that she says she thinks it’s good but more that she doesn’t say that it’s terrible and at this point, that’s good enough for Sokka.

Last time he’d gone for straight up type match-ups, because obviously, fire types are weak against water and that would be the smart thing to do. He had not counted on the fact that that was predictable as hell and that Zuko does not play by the book.

Last time, he’d had no idea that Zuko was an absolute crazy person who delighted in throwing convention straight on its head. Last time, he’d had no idea of what pokémon Zuko had on his team or that he treasured unconventional battle tactics as much as straight up power.

Last time, Sokka didn’t realize that Zuko was absolutely and totally devoted to his pokémon, and that upon being found to be decent, that would carry over to include  _ Sokka’s  _ pokémon by proxy, and that it would be  _ endearing as hell _ .

It’s like Vaporeon and the rest of his team gained a weirdo, overbearingly dedicated uncle that asks for occasional updates on their health and well being, and Sokka’s the one who gets called loser on the regular. Well, it’s fine, even if Katara still thinks it’s a bit shady.

To: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_ [hey actually be in ur gym this afternoon. im coming for u.] _

From: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_ [One day you’ll take the extra second to spell out the word ‘you’.] _

To: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_ [Will that make u leave pikachu out of our rematch?] _

From: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_ [No.] _

To: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_ [then perish.] _

From: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_ [D:] _

Sokka figures that that’s it.

That’s not it.

* * *

“You’re great,” Sokka says to Iroh, “But I’m going to murder your nephew. He’s dead to me.”

Despite Sokka’s forewarning that he would be coming and Zuko’s eventual confirmation via text that he would be there, Vulca’s gym leader is very decidedly  _ not  _ where he is supposed to be.

“You’re welcome to try,” Iroh replies, trying way too hard to sound serious and radiating amusement instead. “If you’d like, you’re welcome to battle me in Zuko’s stead.” He has that authority, Sokka knows, because Zuko’s told him so even though Vulca’s gym regent isn’t well advertised. Nevertheless, he shakes his head.

“No. It doesn’t count as a rematch if it’s you. Besides, I need to go find him and pound some manners into his damn head.”

“Again, you are very welcome to try.”

Zuko has to be doing this on purpose because there’s no way in hell that this is an accident. He just texted him, like, less than two hours ago and got a thumbs up emoji about it. You don’t just send a thumbs up emoji and don’t mean it!

Unless, apparently, your name is Zuko, because Zuko is an  _ asshole _ .

Sokka grumbles his way through town and has learned, from his first visit, to streamline his questions.

“Seen Zuko?”

“Nope!”

“Seen Zuko?”

“No, sorry.”

Eventually, Sokka stands in the middle of the street and hollers into the cosmic void that is apparently the Vulca Islands, “ _ Has anyone seen your godforsaken gym leader _ ?”

Furiously, Sokka whips out his cell phone and angrily taps out  _ where the hell are u???? _

He stands in the street and waits, like an idiot, for two minutes until he can’t take it anymore.

He hovers his finger over the phone icon, but before he can touch it it starts ringing instead, with Zuko’s scowling face from his contact info popping up on the screen.

“What the hell, man?” Sokka snaps in place of a greeting, “You  _ knew  _ this was happening. How could you do this to me again?” He’s trying and failing  _ really damn hard _ to not be annoyed and it’s not working, because he thought that...well, he thought that it would be different. Apparently, it’s not.

“Listen,” Zuko says, and he sounds out of breath and distracted, “I need your help.”

“...With  _ what _ ?” Sokka grumbles, “You bail on me and now you need help?”

“Listen, I’m sorry and you can be pissed off later but this is important. Please just do as I say? I need you to get to a shop and grab some towels and a bacta spray and some bottled water. I’m sending you a map pin.”

And then Zuko  _ hangs up on him. _

Sokka spends a moment glaring down at his phone and the cheerfully blinking map pin that Zuko’s sent him, because of course he’s in the middle of the forest, and of course Sokka is a  _ total sucker _ . And Zuko  _ did _ say that he was sorry. And that he needed some kind of help.

All Sokka knows is that if he finds that guy and he’s beating up gang members again, he’s walking away and leaving him to it.

* * *

“You’d better be dying— _ oh my god _ .” 

Sokka stops dead and for a moment can’t do anything but stare, because he wasn’t sure what he was expecting but it definitely was not this.

Zuko’s sitting on the forest floor, and he’s not alone.

He’s leaning up against a tree with a grey Poochyena pup in his lap, drenched in sweat. One of his hands is bleeding sluggishly from an obvious ring of teeth marks in his wrist. About six feet away, too far to do any harm, is a massive, snarling Mightyena.

Its large-clawed back paw is caught in a vicious metal trap.

“How do you even manage this?” Sokka asks. 

Zuko glares at him and gently shifts the puppy out of his lap and gets to his feet.

“I need your help with her. I can’t...I can’t get her leg out and keep her still at the same time, not without hurting her more. I’d also rather not get bit again if it’s all the same.” Zuko squeezes his good hand around his injured wrist with a held back hiss. 

Sokka sighs.

“Of course I’ll help you. Just tell me what to do.”

Zuko gestures for a towel and Sokka hands it to him in exchange for being handed a potion. He moves slowly and broadcasts his movements as he sits down just out of biting range, stretches the towel out in his hands...and then pounces, wrapping it fully around the wolfdog’s head and holding onto her with both arms. The pokémon snarls and thrashes in Zuko’s hold and wrenches her leg against its metal tether; Sokka winces hard at the pained, whining yelp that rips out of her.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of struggling, she stills and settles hard against the grass, Zuko bodily pressing her down.

“Okay, good. Now as quickly as you can, you need to pry open the trap and get her out, and be ready with the bacta spray and the potion.”

Sokka creeps closer and finally kneels down at her back end, eyes the trap.

It’s a nasty thing, sharp and cutting, and he winces at the way it’s dug in nearly to bone. He reaches out and grips each side in his hands and  _ shoves _ , and it comes undone with a snap, so easily that it’s even more cruel. Sokka tosses it aside with a shudder, hating even having it in his hands.

He fumbles the spray, and Zuko glares at him over the bundle of towel that’s snapping and growling at him.

“Hurry  _ up _ !”

“I’m doing the best I can, man,” Sokka retorts and finally gets the cap off. He sprays the whole thing onto her leg and then hits with the potion and watches, fascinated, as muscle, skin, and sinew knit back together before his very eyes.

Zuko’s breathing hard with the effort of continuing to hold the Mightyena down, crooning whisper quiet to her until she settles again. He sags a little and Sokka relaxes with him, sitting back on his haunches.

The pup, who had been frightened behind a tree while its mother had been attempting to take Zuko’s head off, creeps closer. Zuko encourages the movement.

“Hopefully, if she knows that the little one is safe, she won’t murder me when I take the towel off,” he grumbles. “You might wanna back away.”

No need to tell Sokka twice. He’s not  _ stupid. _

Zuko releases his hold around the pokémon’s head and scrambles backwards, dropping the towel to the ground. Mightyena gets to her feet and rumbles a deep, low growl in his direction and Sokka resists the urge to close his eyes—

And then she bounds away into the forest, her pup trailing after her.

Zuko lets out a loud, shaking breath and drops to the ground, cradles his wrist to his chest. 

“Water?” He asks, and Sokka does him the favor of twisting the lid off before handing it over.

“Dude, those are  _ gnarly _ . She could have taken your whole  _ hand _ off.”

They really are, even after the blood’s been washed off. A full circle of deep punctures that go all the way around his wrist. Zuko stares down at it and experimentally flexes his hand, looks relieved about it.

“Just because it still moves doesn’t mean it’s okay!” Sokka screeches indignantly at the other boy’s flippancy, despite himself. “You wanna die of infection? Because that’s how you die of infection.”

“I’ve had worse,” Zuko offers as if that helps even a little bit, which it doesn’t. At all. 

Sokka huffs a little and grabs his injured hand, remembering to be gentle just in time. Despite, Zuko still flinches in anticipated pain. Bacta comes in a two-pack, and he sprays the unused portion on the bite marks. It has to sting but the only indication of pain that Zuko gives is a tightening of his jaw.

“Good enough for pokémon, good enough for people,” Sokka finds himself quoting Katara’s favorite saying every time she needs to do anything remotely medical. Zuko’s lips tilt up at the phrase, and allows Sokka to bundle the towel around his injury and tuck the ends in.

It’s not perfect but it’ll keep until they get back to Vulca’s gym where there will definitely be either bandages or a minion that can be sent to get said bandages.

“Let's go back,” Sokka tells him firmly as they get to their feet, “Get the hand mummied up, then get ready for me to wipe the floor with you.”

* * *

Sokka does not wipe the floor with Zuko.

He can’t even be mad, not really, because Zuko somehow manages to be a huge asshole but  _ really _ nice about it. It helps that it was a better match than last time and he managed to knock out two of Zuko’s allotted pokémon team, even if his Pikachu (Peony, if he remembers that freakishly adorable nickname correctly) had completely and thoroughly taken him out.

“Two for two, huh?” He grumbles under his breath, flat on his back on the floor. Iroh had offered him a post-battle cup of jasmine tea, and he had declined but accepted the extra bottle of water that Zuko had thrown at him. “Maybe I  _ am _ a loser.”

Zuko’s scowling face swims into view as he suddenly looms over him, arms crossed over his chest. 

“I haven’t been a gym leader for very long,” he says, “But in the time I’ve been here, nobody’s been brave enough to come back and find me twice. Everyone that I’ve beaten has given up and never come back.”

Sokka blinks up at him, startled. That almost, almost sounds like a pep talk.

“You’re the only one,” Zuko tells him firmly. “I think you can do it. Maybe just not yet.”

He extends a hand to help him off the floor.

“Lets go do lunch.”

* * *

  
  


Lunch turns out to be a little hole-in-the-wall place that serves some of the most amazing curry Sokka’s ever had in his entire life. Zuko’s familiar enough with it that he doesn’t wait for someone to show them to a booth but instead makes a beeline for the one in the corner, sliding in and waiting expectantly for Sokka to follow.

He does follow, with a vaguely apologetic wave to the hostess, who shrugs it off with a grin.

Zuko is a local celebrity  _ and _ a local menace, Sokka has learned, and Vulca’s other locals have adapted to him with a poise and a patience that’s really, really impressive. He’s a recognizable sort of guy anyway, gym leader or not, but that combined with a reputation for a certain brand of audacity makes him impossible to miss. They’re all just sort of used to him though, and treat him with an exasperated sort of fondness however he comes.

Horrified, Sokka watches Zuko sprinkle some extra chili flakes onto a plate of already thermonuclear red curry. Just looking at it makes him want to drink a gallon of milk. He takes a deeply grateful bite of his own delicious but mildly spiced order and eyeballs Zuko across the table.

Maybe this should be weird?

Technically this  _ is _ only the second time they’ve met, and Sokka would have expected things to be weird or awkward or stilted, especially in a situation where the only option is to eat or interact. Being weird texting buddies is one thing, but it’s not the same as actually hanging out. There’s no reason for this to feel normal or comfortable.

But it does.

Zuko doesn’t seem to find it awkward at all, though, just intersperses bites of his horrible curry with questions about Sokka’s pokémon, how he trains them, with surprisingly helpful tips on how to improve, which is  _ ridiculous _ . Sokka is trying to  _ beat him _ and Zuko knows it. Why would he help him?

That’s between Zuko and Zuko’s weirdo brain, though, because no amount of Sokka’s funny looks get him to admit that he’s joking (and in fact, the tips he gives sound really, really helpful). 

The door to the restaurant swings open with a cheerful twinkling of a bell.

Neither of them pay attention to the person coming that enters.

Neither of them pay attention, at least, until they catch sight of Zuko and approach him like a particularly aggressive homing missile.

“Gym Leader Zuko!” They say loudly, as if to make sure everything in range can hear. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

Zuko glares, and Sokka can’t help but smirk a little bit. At least the guy’s as hard to track down for anybody else. 

That smirk fades off his face to confusion when the person whips out a notebook and a recorder and starts firing off lightning fast questions and flashing a camera in his face..

“I’m from the  _ Kyoshi Enquirer  _ and I’d like to ask you a few questions if that’s okay.” Zuko does not give any indication that it’s okay and the reporter doesn’t wait for him to answer, just barrels on. “It’s well-known and public knowledge that your father, former Champion Ozai, had ties to notorious crime syndicate Team Rocket, is there any indication that your sister shared those connections? Care to comment on the history of mental instability in your family? Over time reports have come out talking about instances of violence and abuse, any words?”

Zuko does not, in fact, have any words.

With every word and invasive question out of the reporter’s mouth, his expression goes flatter and stonier until Sokka’s shocked that he doesn’t just turn into a boulder right there.

“... _ No comment _ ,” he finally grits out like it hurts, and anyone with a brain could be able to see that it is not a remotely friendly response. This doesn’t matter to the paparazzo, who just  _ keeps going,  _ until Zuko shoves the table forward several inches into Sokka’s middle and launches himself out of the booth, directly into their face.

“I said  _ no goddamned comment _ ,” he snarls with feeling and keeps moving forward, forcing them to scramble backwards in order to not touch him. “Move. Get the hell out of here.”

“No one wants that garbage here,” the hostess comments in a hard voice, approaching with a broom like a weapon. “You’re making an embarrassment of yourself. We don’t even sell that paper.”

“Order somethin’ or fuck off!” The chef pokes his head out from the kitchen and glowers. “Let the kid eat in peace, ya vulture.”

“Inquiring minds want to know!” The journalist blusters.

“Inquiring minds can suck it,” Zuko snaps. “If a single word or image of this gets printed in your toilet roll masquerading as a newspaper, you’ll have so many lawyers climbing the walls that you’ll wish you never heard of me. Now,  _ get out _ .”

They get out.

For a moment Zuko just stands there like a statue, hard and shaking with rage, until the hostess steps forward, pushes him gently back towards the booth with a pat on the shoulder.

“Go back down and sit, sir,” she says quietly before returning to her work, “Finish your meal. They won’t be allowed back in here with that nonsense.”

Zuko goes, sliding back in to press his whole side against the wall. The anger’s fading off of him and now he just looks a little bit dazed, or like he’s thinking really hard.

“Dude, does that happen often?” Sokka asks. “Just come up to you and start going like that?”

“Not often.” Zuko’s voice is very quiet and sounds far away. “Not anymore. Used to be way worse. Most of ‘em are scared of me now. Flipped a table last time.”

Sokka is extremely glad that Zuko did not flip a table this time. Both of them still have food and it’s so  _ good _ , and it’d be a shame for it to go to waste.

Zuko pushes his curry around but doesn’t eat any more of it.

When he pays the bill, Sokka, peering over his shoulder, can see that he tips more than he needs to.

The walk back to the gym is quiet. 

Not for lack of effort on Sokka’s part. Sokka always talks a lot, but it’s never been more noticeable to him than it is now, when Zuko’s responses taper off into single syllable answers and then firmly into no answers at all. Sokka’s never seen him so  _ spacey _ before; Zuko’s normally so intense that he’s impossible to ignore.

At one point, Zuko trips over his own feet and Sokka has to grab his arm to keep him off the ground.

It’s almost a relief to slide open the door to Vulca’s gym and shuffle Zuko inside. Uncle Iroh’s sitting serenely at the table sipping a cup of tea, and he looks up when they enter.

“Welcome back!” He calls pleasantly, “How did it go—?”

His voice cuts off when he takes one look at Zuko’s flat, dazed-looking face.

“ _ What happened _ ?”

Iroh’s sudden urgency is startling, as is the speed with which he gets up and approaches the two of them. He reaches out to cradle Zuko’s face in both of his hands. Zuko doesn’t protest this and lets himself drop his weight into Iroh’s palms and sag forward without a word.

Sokka has the very sudden and very uncomfortable feeling that maybe this is worse than Zuko getting a little stressed out and too deep in thought.

“We, uh, we were getting lunch, and someone from one of the tabloids came in and started asking a lot of, like, super rude questions,” Sokka manages to say while under Iroh’s demanding expression. “About his, uh,  _ personal family matters _ .” That’s the best and most diplomatic way he can think to phrase it, because in retrospect, it’s horrifying. 

The worst part is that Zuko’s still not  _ talking _ , just standing there very still and very quiet like he’s just thinking really hard, only now it’s very clear that something is wrong. 

Iroh swears under his breath and shuffles Zuko towards the kotatsu, pushing him down onto a cushion. And Zuko just...goes. It’s weird as hell. Compliant is not a word that can be used for him on a normal basis.

“Nephew, which of these is—“

Iroh doesn’t finish his sentence before Zuko taps one of the pokéballs on his hip— the opposite side, Sokka notes, of the ones he uses for his gym battles. Iroh taps the button and the ball releases, and holy shit that is the hugest,  _ scariest _ Typhlosion that Sokka has ever seen in his life.

The scariest Typhlosion that’s wearing a stretchy compression jacket around its middle that Sokka’s only seen on very small and frightened pokémon, that without being prompted curls its entire massive body around Zuko and presses its head insistently into his lap.

“Come, sit by me and have some tea,” Iroh says quietly to Sokka, “Zuko will be fine. Give him a minute.” He turns his attention away from Sokka and says, to Zuko, “Zuko, your friend would like your attention, please.”

Zuko blinks slowly, as if coming out of a dream, and finally his hands move to rub slow, pressing circles into Typhlosion’s cheeks, scritching its cheeks.

“She has an anxious disposition,” Iroh says lowly to Sokka, as if that explains anything. “She will help ground him and allow him to reconnect.”

Sokka says nothing, just sips the tea that he’s offered and tries not to stare, because Zuko isn’t some spectacle to be watched. He can’t help it entirely, though, because it’s suddenly important to  _ know _ , even if, at the same time, he feels like he’s intruding by being here at all.

Zuko lets out a sudden, raggedy breath, and it’s like a switch flipping back to the ‘on’ position, and he abruptly goes from syrup slow to borderline frantic and nearly vibrating with energy. The only steady part of him is his hands, still gentle and calm on the pokémon pressed up close to him.

He won’t look Sokka in the eye, and his unscarred cheek is beginning to go a furious red.

Zuko looks  _ mortified, _ and Sokka has a feeling that he’s about five seconds away from bolting out the door and probably never coming back. That’s not something that Sokka can let happen. Especially knowing that this, whatever it is that just happened, happened because of something that hurt.

Sokka sidles around the table to sit a little closer. There’s not much room but Typhlosion doesn’t seem to mind him, happy enough with his presence as long as she can stay where she’s at, wrapped around Zuko like an Ekans with legs. Sokka teaches out to pet her.

“Careful,” Zuko says instinctively despite himself, “She’s not the most— _ oh _ .”

His warning goes unneeded.

Sokka rubs a soft pattern into the pokémon’s warm fur and covertly pats Zuko’s arm in the process. It’s a quick gesture, so quick it could almost be passed off as an accident, but it’s enough that Sokka can feel minute shivers buzzing through his bones.

“Did I ever tell you about how Katara fooled me into carrying a rock around for a month because she told me it was an egg?”

Zuko  _ gapes  _ at him.

“No way.”

“Way,” Sokka tells him. It shouldn’t feel this validating to air out his own dirty laundry, but a little embarrassment doesn’t cost him much. Not if it takes that horrible look off of Zuko’s face. “It was  _ awful _ . I mean, not like, cosmically awful?” He amends, because he’s got a decent feeling that Zuko’s sliding scale for awful is a little different from his. “But nobody would let me forget about it for  _ years _ . Gran-Gran even got in on it once, man. I come out for breakfast and she looks me straight in the eyes and tries to crack a rock into the frying pan.”

The choking snort of laughter that tears itself out of Zuko’s throat surprises both of them, and Sokka was totally right, that some laughter at his own expense is worth it.

So he keeps going.

He gives Zuko enough fuel for future blackmail to last several lifetimes. He tells him about his very first  _ date _ , which Katara doesn’t even know about. He tells Zuko about wearing the classiest fedora that his twelve year old self could find to a ramen shop and giving the girl flowers, which had turned out to be some kind of weird, flowering broccoli, and it had turned out that she was also allergic.

Zuko laughs so hard at that one that he almost cries and the tea Iroh presses into his hands comes out his nose, and Sokka  _ howls _ even as he helps mop it up with a paper towel.

He feels  _ good _ .

Sokka would have thought he’d feel worse after losing for the second time, but it bothers him way less than he expected. Maybe it’s because it was good match, even if it ended in a loss. Maybe it’s because it took longer to get his butt handed to him than it did last time.

Maybe it’s because, somehow, the sting of loss is smoothed over by something gained.

Sokka doesn’t think too hard about it, except that when he’s heading out to leave, Iroh pulls him aside and insists on being called  _ Uncle _ , and a warm feeling blossoms in his chest that doesn’t dissipate the whole way back to the pokémon center.

Katara texts him a few times on his way back but it’s not before Sokka settles into bed that his phone pings and he can see that it’s from Zuko.

From: Vulca’s Local Cryptic

[ _ Hey. Thanks for being cool about earlier.] _

To: Vulca’s Local Cryptid

_ [np. nobody’s perfect. i mean except me.] _

From: Vulca’s Local Cryptid

_ [Yeah, okay. I take it back. You aren’t cool at all.] _

To: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

[ _ bullshit. u think im rad.] _

From: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_ [NOBODY SAYS RAD ANYMORE.] _

To: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_ [i do. rad. tubular. bodacious. cowabungaaaaa.] _

From: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_ [Please stop. Why are you trying to hurt me?] _

To: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_ [say it. COWABUNGA. COWABUNGA.] _

From: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_ [I WILL NEVER SAY IT.] _

From: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_ [But seriously. Really. Thank you.] _

To: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_ [no need to thank me. what are friends for?] _

To: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_ [also COWABUNGA] _

From: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_ [I take it all back.] _

  
  


* * *

  
  



End file.
